


Something Just Like This

by magnetgirl



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Humor, F/M, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 07:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11846634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/magnetgirl
Summary: Thranduil's a reclusive billionaire and Tauriel's the journalist assigned to profile him.





	Something Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_glow_worm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_glow_worm/gifts).



> Names are changed, and ages adjusted: Ariel (Tauriel) is late twenties, Theo (Thranduil) is mid thirties, Leo (Legolas) is about 14 and is Theo's ward rather than son.

“But why?” 

“With Oakenshield’s return, stories about all the old guard are in high demand. And Greenleaf has been in hiding for nearly a decade so he’s the one they’re most clamoring for.”

Ariel rolls her eyes. “But why me?” she whines — and warns, “And if you say because I’m a woman I will punch you right here.” She avoids society gala nonsense like the plague, and everyone knows it. _Or is supposed to_ , she thinks, sending daggers to her editor with her eyes. 

“Because he’s notoriously reticent and you’re the most tenacious reporter I’ve got.” 

_Ha!_ _so he thinks he can sweet talk me._ “Sure, when there’s a story,” she huffs. “This is a puff piece.”

“Only if you write it that way,” he answers with a wink. 

“Uggggghhhh.” She can’t say no, media jobs are few and far between, and it will be good exposure. _Fine_ , she tells herself, and ignores her editor’s smug delight, _challenge accepted_. 

* * *

“Hello.” She’d expected a butler — billionaires have butlers right? Like Alfred or Tim Curry? But she’s greeted by a kid. Well, a teen. But butlers are old. And she vaguely remembers Greenleaf having a ward.

“Hi. I’m here to interview Mr. Greenleaf.”

“Uncle Theo?” 

Ariel tries to reconcile the image of the notoriously temperamental recluse, and rumored secret heir to some European nation or another, with ‘Uncle Theo’, fails, bites back her laughter, and nods. “Theodorus Greenleaf, yes.”

“Stay here,” the kid tells her. “I’ll get him.” He runs off. Ariel waits thirty seconds and follows. 

From the outside the manor appeared to be larger than the block she grew up on. Inside it feels stuffy. Huge. _Cavernous_ , she thinks, taking mental notes for her article. But stuffy. Not musty — every room is almost disturbingly clean — but stuffy. _Overwrought_. She wanders along, peeking through open doorways, but finds nothing but room after room of carved wood. The design is clever, replicating a forest, but it loses charm duplicated over and over. _Boring._ She’s almost decided to turn around and go back to wait for the kid when she sees it. Tucked in a back corner is a — what do they call greenhouses when they’re part of the house? A conservatory? Solarium? Solar? Something like that. 

'Solar' suits this room. It’s as bright as the rest of the house is dark, and covered not with the facsimile of vines but living ones. In another contrast, it does not appear well-tended. Vegetation covers the floor, the walls of glass windows, and at least a third of the domed ceiling. None of it shows any indication of regular care. Rather it’s wild. Free. More alive than anything she’d seen in the manor so far. 

“You’re not allowed in here! No one is allowed in here!”

Ariel jumps as the voice — angry and unknown, though only one owner makes sense. “Mr. Greenleaf?” No answer. “Theodorus?” Nothing. She’s debating trying ‘Uncle Theo’ when he’s suddenly in front of her. _Tall. Angular. Hair such a pale blonde it’s nearly white. Eyes the color of ice but glaring with the fury of a volcano._ She gasps. 

“This room is off limits.”

There’s something under the tight lipped rage. Something she recognizes. _Grief._ “Sorry.” He gestures to the door. She squares her shoulders. “In my experience ‘off limits’ is where the story is.”

His eyes narrow. “Who are you?”

She extends a hand. “Ariel Woods. I write for—"

“Are you named after the fish?” he interrupts. Seems about the right age, and her parents probably thought it clever in light of her hair. 

She sighs and nods. “And I’ll never live it down.”

Theo seems to take pleasure in her annoyance. “She dies,” he pronounces with a smirk. “In the real story.”

Ariel feigns shock. “ _Really_? No one’s _eve_ r told me that.”

“Sarcasm is no way to get in my good graces,” he advises.

“Who said I want to be in your good graces?” she shoots back.

Theodorus sputters. No one has spoken to him so flippantly in years. 

“Why are you here?”

“I write for The Middle.” He gives her a blank stare. “It’s a magazine.” No change. “I’m here to interview you.”

He takes her by the elbow and forcibly removes her from the garden room. “How did you get in?”

“Your…” She frowns and holds her hand at shoulder level.

“My wife’s brother. Leo.” He drops his hand from her arm but glares until she starts walking. “He came to live with us when their parents died.”

“Was that long ago?” She affects a conversational tone. She’s well practiced at non-confrontational, but inquisitive.

“He was a child.”

“And when did you lose your wife?” Theo’s glare intensifies. Okay, _a little_ confrontational, but inquisitive.

“For a reporter you don’t know very much,” he accuses. 

“I’d rather you tell me. That way I get the real story.”

“I don’t want to be interviewed.”

He hastens his steps toward the foyer. She follows his pace. 

“Okay. Let’s just talk.”

“I’ve nothing to say to you.” 

Ariel purses her lips. _Fine._

“My boyfriend died.”

He blinks. “Died?”

She gives him a curt nod. “A year and a half ago.”

Theo turns so suddenly she almost crashes into him. “Do you think I care?” His eyes are alight with accusation. She shrinks despite herself. 

“I—"

“Do you think we’re alike? Our shared loss gives you insight?” His voice is low, but holds a barely contained rage. Her eyes are wide with fury. “We’re nothing alike. Your loss is _nothing_. My wife was murdered.”

They share a glare born in grief for a long, angry moment. He looks away first, feels blood rushing to his head at the look in her eyes. Perhaps he went too far. 

“Oh good, you found him.”

The two adults turn, shaken, at the appearance of the affable teen. Ariel recovers first. 

“Hi, Leo. We weren’t properly introduced. I’m Ariel.” She extends her hand and unlike his ‘uncle’, the boy shakes it. 

“Like the mermaid?”

_Sigh._ ”I prefer to think of myself as a wood nymph.” Both boy and man stare at her. “If I had to choose.”

“Are you going to the party?” Leo asks. 

Theo’s eyes go wide. Ariel cocks her head. 

“Party?”

Leo points to a small round table by the door, and an envelope standing open upon it. Ariel peruses the card — ah, an invitation to Thorne Oakenshield’s big shindig. 

“Theo said he wasn’t going cuz he didn’t want to alone. But you can go with him.” 

Theo opens his mouth to assert _No, she cannot!_ but he’s too late. 

“Yes!” exclaims Ariel, grasping the envelope to Leo’s delight and Theo’s chagrin. “Yes, that is an excellent idea.”

* * *

“This was a terrible idea.”

Ariel rolls her eyes. “We’ve been here three minutes.”

Theo stands — _resplendent_ , she thinks, _the regalia of a society gala suits him_ — glaring at the room in general and her in particular. But he’d been glaring at her in particular since he’d, reluctantly, agreed to bring her, if she promised to leave him alone. She’s come to find it endearing. “What could you possibly learn about me _here_ , surrounded by people I despise?”

She raises an eyebrow. “If we leave now, that will be the story.”

Theo’s eyes darken. He wants to believe he doesn’t care what she writes. But it matters to Leo. And though he’s loathe to admit it, she has a discerning taste and he wants her to — like him. 

“Relax. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

“They’re probably serving _beer_ ,” he grumbles as he follows her to one of the bars set up around the room. 

Ariel hands him a glass of wine with a withering glance. _Snob._ Theo accepts it with a grumpy “Hrmph.” and she picks up one of her own and leads him meandering into the crowd. 

“So,” she gestures to the room with her glass. “Tell me what you see.”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

She swallows a sigh with a sip of wine. Why is he _so_ difficult _all_ the time? She tries again, “The decor is . . .”

“In horrific taste.”

Ariel stares, surprised. “That’s a strong opinion.”

Theo meets her eyes. “His father bankrupt dynasties.” His tone is flat, one she’s come to recognize he affects to cover the depth of his emotion. Thorne’s  father was convicted of financial manipulation that ruined many; he’d died in prison, but Thorne got the rulings overturned on appeal and his own family’s assets were returned. Hence, party. 

“My father would say that’s what the rich do.” Ariel was raised by working class parents. She's the first in her family to go to college, is drowning in debt, and the off the rack but passable dress she's wearing will require her to eat cheap for weeks. 'Dynasty' describes a life wholly separate from hers. 

“Cheek is not becoming,” he answers. A lie, in all honesty. Her impudence is annoyingly attractive. 

Ariel sips her wine. Theo catches sight of their host and tightens his grip on the glass.

“Why don’t you like him?”

“His father —"

“Yes,” she interrupts. “Thorne’s father. Not Thorne.” Thorne was seventeen when his father was arrested, and there was no indication he had anything to do with it. He’d spent years trying to clear his family name, and retrieve his fortune. An inheritance may not be the worthiest of quests, but she doesn’t understand animosity from his peers. 

“His father…” Theo takes a breath. When he continues his tone is flat again.“Artifacts, heirlooms, were seized as part of the scandal. I recognize some on display here.” 

Ariel frowns. “Wait, was something of yours seized?”

“… A jewelry set, that belonged to my wife. It was in her family for generations.”

Ah. 

Their eyes meet. He hates the compassion in hers. 

“Maybe you can get it back,” she offers. 

“I’ve no legal claim.” Leo might, but it would likely be a fight to prove it, and Theo didn’t want to fail. It’s easier to hide, and hate from afar.

“You could ask…” His eyes flare with a fury that frightens, and the hurt that fuels it. “Why do you assume the worst in people?”

“I have never been disappointed.”

She shakes her head. _His heart hardened long ago._ “I need another drink,” she murmurs, and storms away.

 

“Theo? Theodorus Greenleaf, is that really you?”

The voice is familiar, if unexpected. He turns briefly away from Ariel’s retreat.

“Gandalf…"

“Leave it to Thorne to get _you_ to a party.” 

“Thorne had nothing to do with it,” Theo remarks with a look of disgust. 

“Oh?” Gandalf follows the fellow's gaze to Ariel at the bar. “Ohhhh.” She’s nothing he’d expect a Greenleaf to notice. But then again. “Huh.”

Theo glances at the odd pronouncement. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you know old man?”

Gandalf smiles. “Nothing at all. As you say, I’m but a silly old man.”

Theo purses his lips. It’s never any use trying to get a straight answer from the old gossip. But he worries what Gandalf reads in _him_. They fall quiet a moment, watching Ariel.

“She’s very pretty.”

“She is opinionated.”

Gandalf chuckles. “I can only imagine her opinion of you.”

Theo glares. Gandalf’s only response is an innocent smile. He moves to intercept Ariel on her return. Theo watches the two enigmas greet each other fondly. He supposes they must have met in her capacity as a reporter. Gandalf is always trying to drum up support for some nonsense or another. Theo’s wife had always had a soft spot for the old man, they’d listened to him rail on about his injustice of the moment many times over before her death. It is oddly comforting to find the daft man knows — approves of Ariel. 

“Are you okay?”

He’d been so lost in memory he missed her approach. “I’ve not….been in such a crowd in a long time,” he explains. She touches his hand. Hers is warm. 

“Dance with me.”

He blinks. “What?”

She nods to the dance floor, the small crowd of couples dancing. “It will take your mind off things.”

He allows her to pull him along into the dance. He’s not danced in years. Just as he’s not listened to Gandalf’s socialist diatribes, or visited with anyone, or attended any events. He realizes, suddenly, painfully, he’s not _lived_ in years. He feels his heart pounding, they’ve not begun dancing but the room is spinning. Ariel’s wide eyes are locked on him, worried… she’s saying something but he can’t hear. He can’t breathe. 

He runs.

 

She finds him outside. Thorne must not have gotten to the garden in his refurbishment. It’s overgrown and wild, not unlike the forbidden room at Greenleaf Manor. 

“Theo?” He doesn’t answer, but doesn’t flee. She steps beside him, touches his hand tentatively. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

He grasps her suddenly. “How did he die?”

“…What?” His fingers are digging into her arms and his intensity scares her. But he seems more…real than he has in their brief acquaintance.

“Your… how did he die?” His voice is hushed. Still flat. But again, real, and she is compelled to answer. 

“He was a soldier. We met at a VA hospital. I was doing a story and he was injured.” She falls quiet, but he understands there’s more to the story. She raises her eyes, bright with tears. He understands them as well. “He could have left the army, but he was proud.” She is always drawn to pride. “The morning he went back he asked me to marry him. I didn’t answer. He went to war and never returned.” 

Theo feels frozen, listening. He knows he should apologize for the time earlier, when he’d trivialized her relationship, her pain. He should apologize, and explain. Share his own story, his own truths and tears. He should say something. _Do something_. 

He lets her go only long enough to move his hands to her head and waist, and pulls her close. The kiss is fierce, and she returns it with equal fervor. They never make it back to the party. 

* * *

Four days later she drops a bright red USB drive and two pages on her editor’s desk and starts to walk away.

“What’s this?”

Ariel stops, turns, and points to the drive. “This is my article on Theodorus Greenleaf.” Moves her finger to the first paper. “This is a declaration I’m sleeping with him so you’ll need to include a disclosure if you print it.” And the second paper. “This is my letter of resignation.”

The editor’s eyes are wider than she’s ever seen them. “…What?” he sputters. 

Ariel stands to her full height, arms crossed, eyes flashing. “You banked on my history getting me a better in and a better story. It worked, that’s a great story and one I’m very personally invested in. But you used me. You’ve always used me and I don’t like how it feels. I’m taking my voice back.”

She walks out of the office and into Theo’s arms. 

“So. What next?”


End file.
